


Two Glasses Maynard

by CaitClandestine



Category: Conor Maynard - Fandom, Jack Maynard - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU in the way that Anna doesn't exist, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-05 07:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14612310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaitClandestine/pseuds/CaitClandestine
Summary: Conor and Jack through the years, taking care of each other.





	1. Six

**Author's Note:**

> Based almost entirely around the premise that both Maynards look damn sweet and good in glasses
> 
> The age at the beginning of each chapter is Jacks, and they will get progressively longer and you know, more brotherly cuddly and stuff

_Six_

Jack’s not sure what a big brother is but he knows his is Conor, who always shares his toy cars and makes him laugh and when Conor gets glasses he’s enchanted by the bright blue and yellow frames, efforts to follow his brother everywhere doubled as he trails behind him in hope of the rare moments where Conor will take them off and slide them clumsily on his face instead, wide toothy smile and giggles as they end up in the bathroom mirror making faces. Their mum and dad don’t like it and Jack doesn’t understand why because they’re supposed to share and it takes weeks of explaining that this is one thing Conor isn’t allowed to give him, weeks of punishment and time outs for both of them until he stops asking and Conor stops offering.


	2. Seven

_Seven_

They walk to and from school and Conor is always in charge, holding Jack’s hand tightly in his and making sure to look both ways twice before they cross any roads. Sometimes he forgets to let go until they’re at Jack's classroom and Jack likes that Conor is always waiting for him even when his friends say they should pretend to run away, hiding behind the lunch tables. 

He doesn’t like doing his homework but Conor lets him pick which stickers go on both their reward charts and listening to his brother read is okay, they always share his Thomas beanbag as Conor sounds out the new words on his tongue, Jack watching his fingers following the lines on the page and their parents split them up after and Jack has to sit at one end of the kitchen table with his spelling words while Conor gets help with math.


	3. Eight

_Eight_

Conor gets better at reading, comes into Jack’s room each night after tea and Jack looks forward to it, excited to hear the next chapter of whatever cool book Conor’s got from the library with his shiny new library card. Sometimes their mum is there, helping with the hard words and making sure they read properly but it’s best with just the two of them because Conor does great funny voices. 

He has to read for homework too and Conor doesn’t sit with him anymore, doing his own work and without so many pictures the writing on the pages is confusing and his dad gets angry when he forgets where he is and has to keep starting over.

“I’ll read one paragraph and you read the next one so you can practice, okay?” Conor says to him one night they’re reading and Jack nods but the book is too hard for him even though it’s one of his not Conor’s this time, even when Conor helps guide his finger along he just can’t focus on the words.

“I can’t” He whispers, “The words keep moving” and he waits for Conor to be mad like their dad or call him a baby but he doesn’t, instead pulling his new bright red glasses off and offering them to him.

“They move for me when i’m not wearing my glasses” He says, “Maybe they’ll fix it for you too”

Conor’s right, the words don’t jump around so much with the glasses on but he still has to concentrate really hard to get them to make sense, bent close to the book and following Conor’s finger again. They trade the glasses back and forth for a few nights until their mum comes in to help with all the hard to say words in Conor’s copy of Harry Potter and Jack remembers how they’re not supposed to share, tries to elbow Conor to make him remember too but he doesn’t, handing them over like he always does and promptly getting in trouble for it.

“Again?” She’s upset, Jack can tell, “Conor, what have I told you about your glasses?”

“He needs them” Conor says confidently, “He can read better, we’ve been practicing!”

They get marched downstairs when Conor keeps arguing about it, down to their fathers office and Jack cries and promises he’s not making it up, not trying to copy Conor and for the next week Conor flat out refuses to read until Jack finds himself at the eye doctors terrifying office and he has to hold Conor’s hand while looking into all the scary things, his mothers threat of what’ll happen if he’s been lying on his mind but Conor’s glasses have made it easier he's sure.

“See, I knew it!” Conor yells victoriously when it turns out he really does need glasses, stronger ones than Conor too and Jack likes that he gets to be like his big brother, disappointed when plain black frames are picked out for him from the wall of exciting colours and the kids at school make fun of the thick glass in them no matter how hard he tries to make them stop.


	4. Nine

_Nine_

He starts playing football with Conor and all the kids at the park after school and everyone laughs when he ties one of the older kids shoelaces together in goal while he’s not looking. He likes being on the opposite team as his brother so they can run straight at each other, doing their roughest tackles and Jack knocks him straight over this time, stealing the ball and passing it on and finally his team is going to score, hi-fives and a team huddle when they get it in and when Jack turns around to laugh in Conor’s face he’s not there, still sitting on the ground where Jack had shoved him. There’s a couple of kids he doesn’t know standing around him and Jack starts running, worried that he’s hurt him and he’ll be in so much trouble if he has, gets warned by their dad every afternoon not to play so rough. 

Conor’s coughing and Jack runs over to the sideline and brings his bottle of water from his school bag but he can’t stop long enough to drink it and Jack tries rubbing his back but that doesn’t work either and he’s scared, clinging tightly to Conor’s hand until an adult comes and he’s sure his brother is choking and it makes him cry, refusing to let anyone come between the two of them as he recites their phone number and he knows it’s very bad when an ambulance comes, remembers all the lessons they had at school about what an emergency was and he tries to kick the man who pulls him away from Conor, strange arms around his shoulders holding him back when he tries to follow them as they take Conor away and it’s a very long time in the park with a lot of people he doesn’t know before Mrs Dryon their neighbour turns up and gently pulls him away from the crowd.

"Your mum and dad want you to stay with me for a little while, just until Conor comes home" She tells him and Jack doesn't want that at all, wants to be with Conor but he knows that he's not supposed to argue. 

He hates Mrs Dyron's house, the way it smells and how her lounge is lumpy and she only ever has apple juice and he doesn’t like apple juice, doesn’t want to eat the vegetables she makes for him when it gets dark outside and he waits at the front window, sleeps there wrapped in a blanket just in case Conor comes back in the night even though she tells him he won’t. He wants to go home.

It’s not until after breakfast with more apple juice that he finally sees their car pull into the drive and he’s outside before they even come to a stop, wrenching the back door open to find Conor curled in their mums arms and Jack didn’t know he could be so happy to see someone. 

“I didn’t mean it” He blurts out loudly, still afraid he’s going to be in trouble, “I tackled him but it wasn’t supposed to hurt, i’m really sorry!”

He squeezes his eyes shut, waits to be yelled at but it doesn’t happen, Conor and their mum climbing out the car and she’s hugging him then, warm and tight.

“Sweetheart” She says softly, “Jack, you didn’t do anything wrong, you didn’t hurt Conor, it’s alright”

Jack’s not sure he believes her but lets himself be led into the house and Conor walks really slowly, leaning against their dad like he might fall over and Jack wants to hug him but just because he’s not in trouble doesn’t mean Conor won’t be mad at him.

Conor goes straight upstairs to bed and Jack’s allowed in to see him, stern instructions from their mother. "Just for a moment, he's very tired and you have to be gentle"

Jack tries to tip-toe in the room, sits carefully on the very edge of the bed where Conor's propped up on a mountain of pillows and looking sleepily at him.

“I’m sorry” Jack whispers and Conor reaches out a hand to squeeze his. 

He’s told Conor has asthma, something that makes it really hard for him to breathe when they run around a lot or play rough and he has to take special medicine for it and even though he’s been promised any three lollies he wants from the jar in the cupboard which Jack thinks is amazing, the lollies are only for if they’re really, really good his brother still cries and says he doesn’t like it, doesn’t want any lollies at all and it makes Jack so upset that he cries too, has to be sent out of the kitchen time and time again.

“You’re the big brother Conor” He hears his father say from his usual hiding spot in the hallway, behind the end table one night, “You have to set a good example for Jack, show him how grown up you are”

Conor doesn’t cry again, comes shuffling out of the kitchen the next morning and offers Jack his choice of the three lollies in his hand. “Don’t be sad” He says softly, “It’s really gross medicine but I can do it now, you don’t have to cry anymore”

Conor gets sick in lots of places for a while, at school and the shops and their grandparents and Jack gets good at doing exactly what he’s been told to do, making sure Conor’s sitting up and not wearing a scarf and has his inhaler before he finds an adult and whenever Conor’s in bed afterwards they trade Pokemon on their Gameboys.


	5. Ten

_Ten_

Jack gets a scooter for Christmas and it’s the best thing ever, chasing after Conor and his friends around the block and building a little wooden jump in the backyard and falling into the snow over and over. Conor gets in really big trouble for throwing an icy snowball at his head even though Jack started it but as soon as he’s allowed to play again he chases Jack with a stick, yelling about how it’s a sword and revenge until they both trip over their abandoned snowman and Conor starts coughing and then Jack has to cough too, like he’s swallowed his drink too fast and it hurts, doesn’t go away until they’re inside again with hot chocolates watching TV.

It happens again when he’s in PE playing volleyball and it sucks because Jack likes it, likes to see how high he can hit the ball into the air and he can’t when he’s coughing all the time, eyes getting all watery and the teacher makes him sit on the side for the rest of the game.

They go on holiday to their grandparents who live by the sea and even though it’s too cold to swim they go to the beach and Conor collects a bunch of rocks that he says look like hearts but Jack thinks they’re don't and they're ugly and says so and they have to be pulled apart from their fight. In the car on the way back him and Conor are both coughing again and even when he’s asked to be quiet Jack can’t get himself to stop. There’s no hallway in their grandparents house to hide so he has stay in the kitchen while Conor uses his inhaler with the promise of a chocolate bar this time and Jack doesn’t even want to share it like they usuallydo, feels like his jacket is way too tight.

“Jack” His mother says impatiently, hand still patting Conor’s back for him, “I’m sure Nanna will let you pick a sweet too, please stop coughing like that”

“I can’t” He protests, “I really have to” and he does get sent out of the kitchen then, into the living with their dad and Grampa Mark and he knows he’s supposed to be very quiet because they’re watching the cricket but the more he tries to hold the coughs in the more he has to and he feels really cold even in front of the fireplace where he tries to sit still and his father keeps turning the volume up until eventually he stands up from his chair, tall figure coming to stand right in front of him.

“Jack Christopher” He says and Jack cringes, only ever hears his middle name when he's really in trouble, “Stop trying to copy your brother, go to your room and be quiet” and Jack doesn’t want to have to stand in the corner as punishment so he doesn’t say anything, just bolts from the room. He’s not copying Conor and he doesn’t know what else to do, throwing himself down on the mattress they’re sharing in the spare room and it hurts even more when he’s crying but he doesn’t really have to cough anymore, nose all stuffed up and he has to breath through his mouth and he’s getting spit everywhere but he can’t help it. 

“Jack, Jack I bought you a Twix” Conor’s shaking his shoulder and Jack curls tighter in the blankets. He’s so tired and everything is blurry and Conor sounds for far away, like they’re swimming underwater and trying to talk to each other. 

“Jack? If you don’t wake up i’m going to eat it”

He tries to sit up and the blanket is all wet where he’s been coughing up onto it when he moves his hands and the ceiling looks so weird before it’s being blocked by Conor, looking down at him and he barely jumps when his brother starts screaming for everyone to come and Jack’s confused by all the attention, the way his father is picking him up off the bed like he’s a kid and carrying him out to the car and all he wants is Conor, manages to cry loud enough that his brother doesn’t have to stay behind and gets to sit next to him in the car instead.

The hospital is big and scary and even the toy penguin a nurse gives him doesn’t make Jack any less frightened as he’s sitting on a tall bed in his mothers arms and strangers keep touching him, voices loud and he scrunches his eyes shut as tight as he can when they make him put the thing on his face like Conor has sometimes when they come and he doesn’t want it, tries to wiggle away but then his fathers there too, holding him down and it huts so much that he tries to hold his breath to make it go away but it won’t.

When he wakes up his chest doesn’t hurt anymore and the penguin is tucked in beside him, Twix tied to it’s flipper with a rubber band and it’s nice how his mums stroking his hair and telling him she loves him and Conor’s there too, eating a biscuit at the foot of the bed and waving at him. 

“You’re right” He complains to Conor the first time they have be in the kitchen to take their asthma medicine together, “It is really really really gross” 

He tries his best to be brave like Conor is but he cries and Conor reaches over to hold his hand and when they share their lollies later his brother leans in close, their heads nearly touching.

“It was really scary when you were in the hospital” He whispers like it’s a secret, “But it’s kinda cool that we’re the same, like we’re twins” 

Jack nods along. “Twins” He echoes, “Cool twins” and Conor laughs, shoves the last of his lolly into his mouth and they hi-five with their sticky hands.


	6. Eleven

_Eleven_

They start taking swimming lessons and join the choir too and Jack knows he sucks, stays in the back row making jokes with most of the other boys but Conor is a really good singer, gets to be in the front with all the pretty older girls Jack can’t help but stare at with their high ponytails and strawberry lip gloss.

It makes their parents happy and suddenly Conor isn’t just in the choir but the special vocal group too and he doesn’t come to play football in the park as much, has singing lessons and piano lessons and more and more afternoons Jack has play by himself.

He cracks his glasses falling down during drama class and he’s in trouble for it even though it was an accident, not allowed to go to the park for two whole weeks and has to do all Conor’s chores but Conor secretly helps him anyway. Their dad keeps saying how expensive it’ll be to replace them and Jack almost wishes he could just keep wearing Conor’s old pair even though they don’t work as well as his. He keeps getting sick too and his head hurts a lot, a sharp pain that makes him dizzy and it’s way worse when he’s coughing and he’s been to the hospital enough times that he’s starting to rival Conor’s record and their father ends up yelling at him over breakfast, sharp words about how much trouble he is and how upset it makes their mum and so he decides to not say anything unless it’s really bad.

He ends up beating Conor, needs to have stronger medication than him too, more expensive and Jack feels guilty, doesn’t stay in the kitchen with Conor anymore, prefers to be on his own in his room. He doesn’t take the lollies either, leaves them for his brother. Conor say he’s being stupid and Jack slams the door in his face and wishes they weren’t like twins at all.


	7. Twelve

_Twelve_

They go to Portugal for the summer holidays and it’s the best place Jack’s ever been and he never wants to go home, everything so bright and sunny and the people so different from England. Conor keeps trying to talk to girls way older than both of them, pretending he's older too in his new boardshorts and Jack delights in ruining his brothers attempts to be cool by throwing sand or dumping buckets of sea water on him until Conor realises that the girls think it's cute that they're brothers and sometimes hang around to talk if they pretend to be really nice to each other and Jack doesn't understand why Conor likes them so much because they're not that pretty to him but everytime they walk down their pier he gets a waffle cone if he says how nice Conor is and lets him ruffle his hair and push him around and he'd be stupid to say no to free ice cream.


	8. Thirteen

_Thirteen_

Conor keeps getting better at singing and piano, always in the living room making it impossible to listen to cartoons and sometimes Jack’s mad about it but mostly it’s okay because he’s allowed to make requests for songs and their parents really like when Conor sings for them, smiling and laughing while they sit on the couch as Conor goes from being serious to playing chopsticks just because Jack asked. He gets a lot of headaches but doesn’t tell anyone, afraid to get in trouble and ruin how nice everything is, he hasn’t had a detention in weeks and he passed his geography test and there’s a brand new football with his name on it if he passes his history one too.

He wants their parents to be proud of him like they are of Conor, who gets to sing a solo at the eisteddford.

One of their uncles comes to visit from Sweden, brings with him an ancient looking camera and shows them how to use it to make videos, capturing them riding their scooters or practicing trick shots. It’s Conor’s idea one boring rainy Sunday to record himself singing and recruiting Jack as his cameraman as he puts on a beanie and sunglasses and tries to act really cool while he plays and they upload the entire ten minute disaster to show all their friends and it’s the start of something, Jack finding Conor on the computer all the time trying to figure out how to edit the clips together and practicing song after song and he loves to watch, loves to try and make Conor laugh so he has to re-do it.

Everyone at school sees the videos and Jack likes watching the numbers go up, the nice comments people leave for Conor and he comes home from a friends place to find his brother absolutely freaking out because other, important people have seen his little home videos and like them, think he could be somebody and Jack knows he can.

They all go to London, getting time off school and there’s lots of people in suits and ties around and he knows he has to be quiet and not try to shove Conor off one of the fancy wheely chairs in front of them no matter how funny it’d be. Conor’s nervous when they go to McDonalds for lunch, mumbling lyrics to himself through mouthfuls of fries. 

“You’re gonna be awesome” Jack says confidently, tearing at the plastic wrapping containing his toy Shrek, “I know you can do it”

He has to be absolutely silent in the waiting room, sitting next to a giant fake tree and listening to a lady with bright green hair talk loudly behind the reception desk and he’s alone forever and there’s nothing to do except look at the boring magazines about houses or what sort of dresses ladies arewearing to dinner and Jack thinks they’re all pretty nice.

Conor comes out smiling and Jack knew he was right but doesn’t say anything. 

Nothing else happens for a while, he keeps helping Conor make videos and gets the football he was promised, goes to park everyday for a whole week even if it’s by himself to practice, walks home by himself just before dark because usually everyone’s busy so he’s surprised to see both cars in the drive and Conor throwing the front door open before he can even reach for his key.

“We’re going to Disneyland!” Is shouted straight into his face, Conor’s big blue eyes staring at him and he says lots of things that aren’t always true so Jack doesn’t believe him right away, not until he finds their parents in the kitchen with a lot of paperwork and they’re actually going, not just to Disneyland but to see some people who want Conor to make music with them and Jack’s happy for both reasons even if Conor’s pretending that he’s more excited about Disney than singing just for him.

America is even better than Portugal and even when they’re in very important places people are always really nice to him while he waits, bringing him snacks and if he’s lucky someone will let him come and sit in the studio to watch Conor from behind the glass even when their parents aren’t allowed, Conor says they make him nervous and Jack’s happy that he doesn’t, sits on his own wheely chair and dutifully steals all of Conor’s Pokemon while he watches.

They get to stay in a fancy hotel and he and Conor get to share their very own room with keycards like adults and sometimes Conor’s quiet when they come back after dinner, singing the same words over and over in the shower until Jack wants to lock him out but other times they’re silly, spilling ice cream on the floor and jumping from bed to bed until they’re both out of breath from laughing so much, Conor’s face all red.

He doesn’t get to hear the songs except for what Conor secretly sings to him because they’re not done yet and they’re only home for a little while before Conor has to go back to California to make sure they’re just right and Jack doesn’t expect to be told that he can’t come with them, has to go back to school.

Conor tries really hard to get their parents to change their minds, promises they’ll be good and that it doesn’t make sense that he can do his school work at the hotel and Jack can’t but they won’t budge and he has to go to their aunt and uncles and Jack hates them, hates his two nieces who always pull his hair and try to take his things, has to sleep on a little camp bed in the garage and never gets to talk to Conor when his mum calls to ask if he’s doing his homework and helping around the house. He tries to do better, get high marks but it’s hard to concentrate when his head aches so often but he’s by himself now and he knows his aunt won’t care, too busy with the girls.

He wishes for his brother the most when he ends up having an attack from how cold it is in the garage and his aunt and uncle are both there, both in his personal space and talking too much and they don't know how to help like Conor does with his confident hands helping him hold his inhaler and count his breaths and not trying to smother him, asking before trying to touch him or rub his back.


	9. Fourteen

_Fourteen_

Their parents come back but Conor stays for a few more weeks and Jack finally gets to talk to him on the phone, tries to be excited about the stuff his brothers doing that he isn’t.

Conor comes home different, has found a new way to do his hair and has a whole shelf full of hats and he offers to share all his new clothes with Jack and of course Jack says yes even if they’re a bit big on him, make him look like a rapper. It’s a bit weird, hearing Conor’s song on the TV and on the radio and people always asking him about but it Conor's so happy Jack doesn't mind. It’s the best thing to be on the side of the stage when he sings, watching all the bright lights and he follows Conor around for ages making fun of the way he dances and moves his hands all the time until Conor yells at him and tries to get security to drag him out and they do, Jack thrown playfully over one of their huge shoulders and only put down in the green room where he decides to eat all of Conor’s favourite pretzels while he soundchecks.

He has his own friends, ones who care more about football than what Conor’s doing and he plays for the school team every Saturday and Conor makes their parents come and watch and he’s disappointed when they lose, wanted them to think he was good.

Conor has cool glasses now, a gift from some company and contacts too and it sucks that he really only needs them to read or when he’s tired, doesn’t have to wear them all the time like Jack does and he's still stuck with his slightly scratched black ones. 

Conor starts learning how to drive and Jack’s favourite part is when he’s allowed to sit in the back and Conor turns the radio up, sings along as loud as he can and even though their father tries to be stern and serious because he’s in charge of making sure Conor doesn’t crash Jack can tell he likes it, never actually makes Conor stop, usually he just has to pull over because he moves his hands too much and they start swerving on the road.

It’s harder to hide his headaches with Conor around all the time again and he finds out when Jack nearly strangles him for playing Crash Bandicoot too loud in his room, the music making him cry with the pain of it. Conor’s downstairs in an instant to tell their mum no matter how Jack tries to stop him because she’ll just think he’s trying to cause trouble and he’s right, she’s not happy as she quizzes him about it even though he doesn’t lie and Conor frowns at him.

"Why did you say anything before, you said it's been going on for months" He asks and Jack can't explain, just shrugs. He doesn't want Conor to be upset with him.

Conor ends up just nudging their shoulders together, "You can always tell me you stuff you know that right, you're my favourite little bro"

He gets a doctors appointment in the end and tablets to take and maybe Conor was right, he should’ve said something earlier because as soon as he takes them the next time he hurts it goes away almost instantly, like a blanket on his head and if he’s at home he usually goes to sleep after, warm and comfortable. 

Conor has a huge pile of school work to do and he doesn’t want to play football anymore, always on his new phone talking to people about music but neither of them can escape a trip to the dentist and when Conor leaves for Los Angeles with just a filling and Jack needs big ugly braces he hates that something else is wrong with him that’ll cost money to fix.


	10. Fifteen

_Fifteen_

When Conor comes home again it’s only to visit and pick up his things, their parents co-signing a lease on a flat in a big high-rise flat for him London, trusting him to live on his own in the city with just a few friends in the neighbourhood and finish high school online while Jack’s not even allowed to go the the late movies on Saturday night like there’s ten years between them instead of two. 

He’s angry about it, gets told off so often that sometimes he pretends to be mad just so no one knows how upset he really is. 

Conor’s got different friends now, older than both of them and a job and a life all his own, passes his driving test and gets his own car and Jack knows he goes out to house parties and drinks even though he’s not legal yet. They don’t talk as much and sometimes days go by before he replies to Jack’s texts.

Yelling becomes a new normal in the house, he’s constantly fighting with their parents about something and when his regular detentions turn into a week long suspension his mother throws up her hands and says she’s going away for a few days, that she can’t deal with him anymore. He stays at home alone while their father works all day and then comes back and tells him he’s in charge of his own food before disappearing into his room with an armful of paperwork and a coffee.

There’s been a worrying ache in his chest for days but he doesn’t dare to mention it, stays curled up in bed slamming on the keys to Conor’s hand me down laptop in frustrated conversations on Messenger. He falls asleep with the music in his headphones turned nearly all the way up and he starts coughing on and off, hopes he’s not caught something because being sick makes everything worse, everyone hate him more than they already do. He double doses with his inhaler even though it’s nearly empty and it’s supposed to have lasted way longer but he can’t face asking for another one just yet.

He starts an argument about what they’re supposed to eat because they’re out everything he knows how to make and his father makes him go with him to the shops, both of them adding things to the trolley in silence.

Conor surprises them both the next day by coming for a visit, shiny black SUV in the driveway and Jack’s jealous and annoyed by it, hardly ever gets to practice his driving and he doesn’t let Conor hug him when he comes in with a bunch of bags of clothes to wash, gets increasingly angry when Conor doesn’t have to make his own food like he’s been doing and instead convinces their father to order in and he glares at them both from the end of the table while he eats, stomping back upstairs as soon as he’s done and locking his door and going for his headphones. He doesn’t want to hear about how great everything in London is.

He wakes up out of breath and it’s different then it usually is, the kind of pressure in his chest that makes him start to worry and he knows he’ll have to go downstairs to at least get his father to pay attention to him for a while even if he doesn’t want to. 

He clings to the rail on the way down, starting to wheeze and the grandfather clock in the hall says it’s just past midnight, light shining through the gap in his fathers door so at least he won’t have to wake him. He knocks tentatively, pushes his head into the room. 

“I’m not your mother” His father says, barely looking up at before turning his attention back to the thick book on his lap, “You’re the one who’s always yelling about how much of an adult you are, you deal with it”

It’s something he’s expecting but the words still hurt and Jack absolutely would deal with it if he didn’t think, didn’t pretty much know that it’s different tonight.

“It’s bad” He struggles to get out, “Can I sit in here in case we have to go?” 

He doesn’t say the word, but the frown on his fathers face is obvious. 

“You know our excess goes up everytime we have to go the hospital” He says flatly, staring critically at him, “Unless you’re going to pay for it I suggest you reconsider what you think an emergency is because I don’t see it, you’ve got your stuff upstairs”

Jack can feel a thick lump in his throat rise up and it doesn’t help at all, genuine tears starting to fall on top of the ones he’s already crying because he can’t breathe and he stumbles back out of the room not bothering to close the door. He drifts towards the kitchen, thinks about how they might as well just cross his name off the family tree because it’s clear that his father really doesn’t care about him.

The panic gets worse and he slides down against the cool cupboard doors, bare feet sweaty against the tiled floor and his hands are shaking and he wonders how much trouble he’ll be in if he calls 999. He doesn’t have his shitty half-broken phone on him but the landlines only a room away and the more the thinks about it the tighter his chest gets and he’s on his hands and knees about to start crawling when the hallway light flicks on and he can hear Conor hitting the one creaky spot on the stairs.

“Jack?” His brother calls out and Jack wants to tell him to shove off and come closer at the same time but can’t concentrate enough to manage either, coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I know you’re mad at me but you don’t sound so good” Conor continues and then he’s in the kitchen turning that light on too and it’s too bright, makes him squint. He waits for Conor to maybe be mad at him for obviously waking him up or annoyed that Jack’s been not so nice to him all day but the moment their eyes meet Conor’s beside him in a second and Jack’s so surprised that he lets himself be pushed against the cupboards again, Conor’s hands tilting his head carefully back against the wood.

“Fuck” His brother says loudly and they both follow the no swearing in the house rule so he must look pretty bad, Conor stretching up to the counter-top to grab a roll of paper towel, tearing off a few pieces so Jack can spit into them instead of clothes even though they’re already wet and gross and as he reaches for them Conor’s grabbing his hand, holding it up and eyes going wide.

“You’re going fucking blue” He says hoarsely and Jack looks at their joined fingers and he’s not sure how Conor’s noticed the slightest hint of colour to his fingertips and it makes him panic even more because he was right, knew it was going to be bad and Conor’s using his other hand to reach out towards his face. “Your lips too” He says, voice rising again and then they’re interrupted by their fathers voice from his still open door.

“What have I told you about bothering your brother?” 

“Did you tell him?” Conor asks and Jack nods which makes Conor swear loudly again.

“He’s fucking blue” His brother yells, “Dad, he’s out here going fucking blue he’s not bothering me get the fuck out here” and Jack’s get enough energy left to be a little impressed by how many swears Conor’s getting in. 

“Language!” Comes the sharp reply but their father appears a few seconds later and Jack cringes until his father actually looks at him and his angry expression swifty changes and Jack almost enjoys it, that he gets to see his father realise he's not fucking lying.

“I’ll call 999” He says gruffly but Conor shakes his head.

“I can drive faster than they’ll get here, he needs to go now can you get my fucking keys and open the door”

“Stop using that language with me!” 

“Fucking fine” Conor fires back, getting up off the floor and he’s so suddenly tall, stomps past their father so angrily that it gives Jack something to concentrate on even if things are a little hazy around the edges as Conor yanks his keys off the rack by the front door, slides the bolt and disappears outside before he’s back again, back at Jack’s side.

“You’re gonna be okay” He says and Jack knows he’s trying to be cool about what’s not a very cool situation, wrinkles in his forehead and waver in his voice giving him away. “Jack, you’re gonna be okay”

Jack’s not sure, thinks it’ll be alright if this is how he goes with his brother right beside him.

Conor’s scooping him up then, arms under his knees as he carries him outside and the cold air is almost easier to breathe, convinces him that he is actually breathing with every sharp intake.

“Get in the fucking car you’re the one who has to sign everything” Conor demands of their father as he lifts him into the passenger seat and Jack lurches forward, leaning heavily against the dash as the door closes and Conor’s getting in and their father in the back.

He coughs relentlessly until he can’t cough anymore, sucking in air in near silent panic and only vaguely away of how tight Conor’s grip is on his knee.

Conor carries him into A&E, voice calm at reception and continuing to be even when they’re in the emergency ward itself and it’s strange, everything in Jack’s brain seeming so disconnected that he’s halfway convinced that he might just stop breathing entirely and Conor shouldn’t be so relaxed about it all. 

It’s just like when they were younger, Conor sitting on the bed right next to him and Jack leans against his shoulder as people scurry around, Conor keeping him steady and answering questions and helping him hold the mask to his face for the oxygen he so desprately needs, throat so tight he can’t even wince like he always does at the needles pressing into his skin.

“You’re okay” Conor keeps murmuring in his ear and Jack’s exhausted after, chest aching and freezing under the scratchy white blankets, the steroids he’s been given making everything too fast and he has to keep wiggling his feet just to shed all the energy he suddenly has, clenches and unclenches his fingers into Conor’s pyjama pants which are the brightest shade of red and a soft, cool satin that feels so nice to him right now. 

He tries not to cry but can’t help it, their father awkwardly pulling up the blankets around his shoulders and patting him gently on the shoulder while he’s still tucked in with Conor and it’s how they stay until their mother comes and Jack should feel happy to see her but doesn’t really, not even when she cries and takes Conor’s place at his side.

It’s mid-morning before he’s allowed home and Conor drives just the two of them, hand on Jack’s knee again as they listen to the local radio station. He’s hardly been shoved into bed with a cup of tea before he hears yelling from downstairs, Conor and their parents getting into what sounds like a massive fight, the kind he usually starts with them and it hurts to know it’s about him, that Conor’s voice is cracking in frustration because of him and how much trouble he is. 

The front door slams and he can hear Conor squealing out of the driveway and the last thing he wants is for him to go away again.

His mum brings him a sandwich and says she’s sorry and she’s been crying again but all he has words for is Conor, who’s apparently just gone out for a little while but Jack’s not sure he believes it.

He sleeps on and off for the rest of the day, scrolling through his phone and avoiding going downstairs because he’s not how that’ll go and he isn’t up to fighting. 

Conor doesn’t come back until it’s dark outside, voices downstairs soft this time and Jack waits hopefully to hear any sign that might mean Conor isn’t going to leave tonight. 

There’s a knock at his door and Jack sits up in bed as Conor pushes it open still looking so much older than he is, seventeen going on thirty with the way his face is set and the dark circles under his eyes are all Jack’s fault, always his fault.

“I’m sorry” He says quietly as Conor sets a few plastic bags down on the bed and sits next to them, “I’m always getting you in trouble”

Conor’s wearing his glasses again, fancy branded ones with a tortiseshell pattern, testament to how tired dealing with all of Jack’s shit has made him. 

“I don’t think dad’s ever gone so red” Conor offers with a small smile, “I thought he might actually explode when I called him an asshole” and the picture in Jack’s head makes him smile too.

“I’m the one who should be sorry though” Conor continues, “You’re my bro and I know what they’re like, I should’ve been coming back more often i’ve just been so busy studying and the new single and god, you have no idea how hard it is to iron your own bloody shirts”

Jack laughs at the face he makes before he crumbles and he hates how he’s always so emotional after, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and Conor’s face falls back to being serious before he’s pulling back the blankets and climbing in next to him, arm around his shoulders and Jack hadn’t realised how much he needed the comfort.

“Dad keps saying how your headaches are worse and you’re sick a lot” Conor says and Jack instinctively tenses, tries to wiggle from under Conor’s arm.

“I’m not lying” He whispers, “I promise i’m not doing it for attention I swear, I wish it could make it stop” and he is crying now no matter how hard he tries to stop the embarassing little sounds coming from his throat.

Conor’s holding him tighter then, “Hey, I know you aren’t” He soothes, “Why’d you think I was calling dad a tight-fingered twat this morning, you’d think they’ve got enough of the album money to actually buy you stuff and stop bitching about the insurance, that’s what we were aruging about, I kind of threatened mum with not coming home for Christmas unless she helped me get you some things and I got you a surprise too”

Conor pushes the bags towards him and he truly is the best big brother anyone could ask for, far better than Jack could ever deserve to have. Inside there’s two boxes of the pills he takes for his headaches, the proper brand name version that are smaller and easier to swallow than the horse-sized generics and he doesn’t even know if Conor knows that but he appreciates it so much and then there’s two each of the proper inhalers he’s supposed to have and at the bottom of the bag at least ten Kinder Surprises, his favourite.

“I couldn’t decide which ones to get so I got both Barbie and Transformers” Conor admits sheepishly, “And if there’s one missing I don’t know anything about how delicious it was”

Jack's very nearly speechless, can only hug his brother as tight as he can.

“Thank you” He mumbles into Conor’s hoodie.

“I’ve got you” Conor says, holding him back just as tight, “You know can always call me if you need something or want me to yell at anyone”

Conor stays for another two days and things are better – he’s not drowning in any sudden affection but no one snaps at him and his father even makes him a cup of tea and Conor gets away with all the things he can’t like bringing sugary cereal into the house, changing the heat setting and not putting the remote back on the coffee table.

He drives Jack and his friends to football practice and makes sure to circle round so that all the girls who come to the game see them climb out and he’s finally allowed to break curfew and go out bowling with some of Conor’s older friends, sneaking a few sips of wine and beer and Conor winks at him when they’re both drinking their own Cruisers in a random backyard, sweet pineapple taste tingling on his tongue and warming his stomach.


	11. Sixteen

_Sixteen_

Conor turns eighteen with a massive hometown party, local hall rented out, all of his London friends coming down for it and it’s surreal, the two of making the town paper with a giggly photo where they’re trying to hit a giant frog shaped pinata. It’s a long night and if Conor gets so drunk with his mates that he stumbles out into their front lawn and throws up right in front of their parents no one mentions it the next day when he doesn’t come downstairs until the afternoon, sunglasses on and hood pulled up. 

His new single is a hit and Jack’s thrilled for him, finally gets to go to London and see Conor’s new-new flat, one he’s renting all by himself and it’s amazing, right by the Thames and when he has to go out Conor lets Jack play around with all his fancy studio equipment and jump on his memory foam mattress and they spend an entire week being tourists, eating pizza and playing Xbox, driving around the city and it makes Jack pick up the fight with their parents for driving lessons because no matter how well he does at school or how much he keeps to himself it’s still a rare occasion and he’s half-tempted to just take the car and teach himself.

A few times his friends fathers let him tag along, drive with them and it might be out of pity but Jack doesn’t care, takes whatever he can get and he’s just about managed to earn himself a few lessons from the local driving school – something that’s taken months of housework and studying and gardening their mothers stupid bloody flower beds when he steps on his glasses getting out of bed, ends up punching the wall in a fit of anger because he knows it’ll never happen now, he’s not supposed to drive without them and there’s no way it’s not going to be noticed if he’s not wearing the stupid things. 

He quickly covers the hole in the wall with a poster, knows if their parents find out he’ll have to pay for it and it’s a long time until he’ll be able to get another shitty summer job. 

Conor calls about once a week, sometimes at the weirdest times but Jack always answers no matter how tired his is, understands what it’s like to not be able to sleep.

The final straw in the ongoing driving arugment is his mother complaining that she has to drive him and his friends back and forth for their group science project and Jack snaps back that if they’d let him have lessons he’d be able to drvie himself sooner and of course it escalates into screaming and more trouble until neither of them will drive him anywhere, has to take an ancient bike from the garden shed. 

He sneaks out one night, cycles all the way across town to a friends cousins sisters engagement party and gets smashed on cider, remembers calling Conor and yelling drunkenly at him, wakes up in the morning to twenty missed calls from their parents on the floor of a girls bedroom. 

He can’t lie his way out of the situation and he’s never been so close to being hit he’s sure, has to hear over and over again about how Conor would never do such a thing and Jack wants to tell them everything bad his brother’s ever done, show them all the pictures Conor sends of girls and drinks and parties where he’s blackout drunk or high or both. 

Conor calls him the next week and Jack can’t help but be snappy with him, stomping around his room as he yells and swears and he knows he’s acting like a child but doesn’t know what else to do.

“It’s just so fucking unfair” He whinges, huffing down the line.

“I know” Conor says easily and Jack thinks that he absolutely doesn’t, has no idea what it 's like to be Conor Maynards brother.

“Do you want me to talk to them?” He asks and that makes it worse, makes him angrier that he needs Conor to bribe their parents to do regular things like actually care about him and what he wants to do in life. He tells Conor as much and then hangs up without waiting for his reply.

His own birthday is uneventful, Conor away in Miami and it falls on a school day, him and a few friends going out for pizza and general messing around, trying to convince a few girls to come out with them and failing. He gets a new laptop at least, Conor’s old one officially too broken and it’s nice to have something that’s just his.

It’s weeks later, a rare warm and sunny afternoon as he’s walking home that a familiar SUV slides past him and Conor's often a distracted driver so Jack wouldn't put it past him to just have completely not noticed that it's him and he jumps about a metre into the air when another car honks loudly behind him, followed by a cackling laugh that could only belong to his brother.

He turns around and finds Conor leaning out the window of tiny red two door, neon pink beanie on his hand and Jack looks back at Conor’s actual car pulling into their driveway and maybe he has a little bit of idea where this is going but can’t quite believe it, Conor yelling at him to jump in and pulling him into a side hug while idling in the middle of the street, giant grin on his face.

“Jack, bro!” He says gleefully, shifting into gear and puttering them the rest of the block down, executing a suss parallel park outside their house. 

There’s two of Conor’s friends getting out of his car, ones he knows Conor’s had for ages and they’re nice to him in the kind of way that not all of them are.

“What the fuck” He demands, “Conor” He tries to sound threatening but he’s smiling too much, climbing out of the car and Conor doesn’t reply beyond more obnoxious laughter before he pulls the keys from the ignition and tosses them to him.

“Happy birthday!” He yells and Jack just can’t. He stares at the keys in his hand, at the little key fob with Justin Biebers face on it in a big pink heart.

“You’re kidding me” There’s no way Conor’s bought him a fucking car.

Conor just offers him a shrug, cheeky grin from ear to ear and Jack takes a running leap and nearly tackles him to the ground, his friends laughing and encouraging him to actually do it.

“If you get mud on my jacket i’m taking it back” Conor gasps, trying to push him off and Jack relents, joy suddenly evaporating.

“Dad’s never going to take me out” He says under his breath, offering Conor a hand to stand up and his brother just claps him soundly on the back. 

“Worry not little bro” Conor announces, “I didn’t just bring George along for shits and gigs, he only lives in the next county and he’s an old man with a full licence so he’s going to teach you and I got you some lessons and dads welcome to take it up with me if he has a problem” 

Their parents are beyond annoyed so Conor invites both friends in for tea just because they can’t saying anything in front of them and when they get picked up by one of their girlfriends it’s more of a resigned frown on their fathers face.

Conor stays, Snapchats to everyone a really awkward video of Jack blowing out his candles on the belated birthday cake he'd insisted they run out and buy and missing about half of them the first time and after they’re both filled with cake they head upstairs, his brother showering while Jack flips through TV channels trying to find something that doesn’t entirely suck. 

When Conor finally returns having borrowed their mothers hairdryer he’s holding a gift box, holographic pink with the discount store price tag prominently in place and Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that” Conor says, indignant, “So what if I totally forgot to get a box until we were five minutes away”

“This is a judgement free zone” Jack promises, trying to keep a straight face.

Conor comes and sits next to him, passes the box over.

“Rememver that time you drunk dialled me from that party?” He says and Jack feels his face going red, doesn’t have the greatest memory of that night.

“You said” Conor continues, “That you’d never get a girl to touch your dick with nerd glasses and braces and since you’ve already lost the braces I talked to mum and you’re really fucking blind you know, we had to get them special ordered and everything but yeah, there you go”

Jack lifts the lid and a burgundy glasses case looks up at him. Conor’s actually gone and bought him new glasses. He reaches in, opens it up and god, he doesn’t know what kind of job he’s going to need to pay him back for a car and fucking Ray-Bans, black frames suddenly not seeming so ugly when they’re fitted with gold and he immediately pulls his old ones off and he could always see fine with them but the new ones seem better somehow, snug on his face and frames not so distracting anymore.

“Conor” He says, lump in his throat and he finds a freshly showered hand being clapped across his mouth.

“I don’t want to hear anything than how much you like them” His brother says sternly and Jack does, more than Conor could probably imagine and he appreciates the out he’s being offered, swallows thickly and smiles.

“What do you think?” He asks, striking his best model pose.

“I think girls are definitely gonna want to touch your dick with those”


	12. Seventeen

_Seventeen_

To Jack's surprise Conor’s friend George does end up coming over once a week to take him driving and even if Conor’s bribing the guy he’s not letting on, their trips always filled with laughter and sick beats. His parents obligingly take him to his professional lessons and Jack adores his little red car, names her Susan after Susan Boyle but refuses to tell anyone why. 

George helps him drive to London and he actually has to do the walk of shame out of the car to let the other man park them in Conor’s building because he just can’t get figure it out, doesn't want to risk hitting the nice cars on either side of the spot. 

He gets to be in the back of one of Conor’s videos for a cover and he’s not expecting to wander out of he spare room the next morning in nothing but his underwear to find actual ThatcherJoe in Conor’s living room, there to film with his brother and the laughter from Conor makes it obvious that he’d deliberately made no attempt to wake him and let him know they’d be having guests, looking frankly delighted at how Jack stammers and alternates between hiding his crotch and trying to fix to his hair.

He’s made no secret of his affection for Joe’s videos and Conor exploits it mercilessly, makes him help him the video and afterwards conveniently having to run out of the flat to the shops and leaving him with the older man. Joe’s super nice to him even as Jack hits peak awkward, waffling on about how cool his videos are and how he’d like to try making his own and Joe’s really supportive, even gives Jack his actual phone number and says he if needs help he’s free to ask.

He goes home with an old camera of Conor’s even though he knows his brother only bought it a few months ago, tries to call him out on it but Conor just shrugs and says he’s upgraded already, jokes about how his beautiful face can only be seen in the highest definition available and Jack decides not to look in this particular horses mouth. 

Making videos doesn’t come as naturally as he’d hoped after all the time he’s spent around Conor and more than once he just rage quits after yet another frustrating attempt to edit, hates looking at his own face and how ugly and awkward he is. He keeps coming back to it even if he has to send the files to Conor and have him cut them down for him before returning the files with detailed instructions on how not to fuck up all his hard work and Jack’s determined to learn.

Months go by and he doesn’t get that much better but at least he’s managed to make a channel and upload something even if it’s terrible, sends the link around and makes all his friends watch but doesn’t send it to Conor, doesn’t want to know how bad it really is. 

He keeps working and Conor’s busy with stuff, doesn’t text him back until late or sometimes days later and it’s a guilty pleasure of Jack’s, stalking the internet for news on his brother. He mostly does it because it’s fucking hilarious to mock him for being caught out at clubs with girls or buying three burgers at McDonalds or just getting caught in the most unflattering pictures ever – he always saves them to his computer, plans to one day have a giant collage of them printed for maybe a Christmas gift.

Nothing’s been out of the ordinary about Conor that he can think of, he’s always kept weird hours and gets intensely focused when he’s got something to do so it’s a huge, gut-wrenching shock when the news story pops up on Jack’s laptop one morning when he’s trying to avoid his geography project. 

It’s difficult to reconcile the words quoted as his brothers as being true, that Conor’s been dealing with the weight of depression and anxiety by himself for longer than Jack can bear to think about. It hurts too, to think that maybe they’re not as close as he thought they were, that Conor couldn’t trust him. His hands are sweaty as he scrolls down to Conor’s number and he has no idea what he’s going to say, thoughts rushing through his head until the moment Conor picks up, voice cheery and Jack wonders how long Conor’s been pretending that everything’s okay.

“Why didn’t you say anything” He blurts out, instantly regreting the snappy way he’s said them and maybe he should’ve waited until he’d collected his thoughts before rushing straight into the call. “I would’ve been there” He adds, softer. 

Conor’s always been there for him and Jack’s not a kid anymore, could’ve done something, said something, been there. He gets dark sometimes too and it kills him to know that Conor’s been hurting for years and hiding it. 

“Hi to you too” Conor answers, not so cheerful anymore. “Stalking me again?”

Jack doesn’t laugh, can’t fathom how Conor’s trying to make a joke out of this because it’s not funny right now. 

“You always tell me I need to speak up” He accuses, “Why didn’t you?” 

“I really don’t want to talk about this now” Conor replies flatly, “I have to be on the radio in an hour, maybe you can call tonight if i’m not busy I don’t know yet”

He’s so casual that Jack wants to reach out and shake him. He doesn’t know what to do with the ache in his chest that gets worse with Conor’s every word. He can he have been so serious with strangers and not with him?

“Yeah sure” He says bitterly, “Have fun telling strangers more than you tell me” He hangs up, not sure what else to say and completely horrified and aware of his own attitude. He’d called with the intention of trying to connect the two of them and he’s just gone and absolutely been a giant dick, no wonder Conor doesn’t tell him anything.

He avoids looking up whatever station Conor’s interview will be on and doesn’t call back, types a hundred draft texts of apologies but can’t send a single one. 

Two days pass of Jack feeling like shit but unable to do anything about it when he comes home to find Conor’s car in the drive and as soon as he’s closed the door behind him his brother is there, black hoodie hanging off his shoulders and dark circles under tired eyes. They stare at each other for a long moment before Conor’s hesitantly holding out his arms and Jack welcomes the hug, holding Conor back so tight his arms hurt but he’s being held just as tight.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought it would go away” Conor says quietly into his shoulder, “But it never did and I guess I just figured that was what life was supposed to be like, what I deserved”

He sounds so small that Jack wishes they could trade places. 

“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you” He continues, “There was just never a good way to interrupt all the fun we have with all my feelings and sometimes there wasn’t anything wrong, you know?”

Jack pulls away from the embrace a little. “I shouldn’t have called you like that” He offers, “I was just worried and didn’t know what to say”

“I didn’t know what to say either” Conor admits, “That’s why I drove down”

They end up in Jack’s bed with two family size bags of chocolate buttons and a Lord of the Rings marathon. 

“You know you can always call or text me” Jack says in a quiet moment, “Even if you don’t want to talk about it i’ll answer and you can just listen to me complain about stuff”

He’s trying to keep it light-hearted, the idea of all the nights Conor’s been awake and not messaged him just been there in alone in the dark is almost too much.

“I will, I promise” Conor assures him.

Conor does keep his promise but never shares too much, says that he doesn’t want Jack to worry about all his emo shit and Jack knows better than to try and push, thankful that Conor lets him in at all and his brothers always assures him that it helps, just to be able to talk about random stuff to someone when the thoughts in his head get too loud.


End file.
